


expecting the unexpected

by dharma22



Series: The Wardens [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Consoling, Cuddling & Snuggling, Discussion of Abortion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-18 04:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21588421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dharma22/pseuds/dharma22
Summary: “Have you done them before?” Sebille wondered.Syn nodded solemnly. “I have,” she said curtly. She did not wish to elaborate, that much was clear.But Sebille had to know.“What happened?” she asked quietly.“After it happened...she bled for days. The fever drove her to delirium. The chills were so intense that I could set her on fire and she’d still be trembling away. Like a leaf in the wind,” Syn said, her voice wispy and laden with sour but important memories, “Her pain was so intense that not even my magic could dull it. Truly the first time I’d ever felt completely useless and out of my element.”“And?”“She died.”Sebille Mahariel is paying dearly for an impulsive decision and as she struggles to decide what to do about it, Zevran offers support and comfort.
Relationships: Past Duncan/Female Warden, Zevran Arainai/Female Mahariel, Zevran Arainai/Female Warden
Series: The Wardens [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1499606
Kudos: 9





	expecting the unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: this story has mentions of abortion and I want to make it clear that I am NOT vilifying abortion nor am I taking a negative stance on it. The reality of abortion in a "medieval" setting is that it's dangerous and often times lethal. Do enjoy!

She’d grown up on tales of the wickedness of the Dread Wolf, but she was more thoroughly convinced that the true wickedness in the world spawned from a universal force that predated the oldest of gods. A pioneer of sorts in the ways of cruelty and dread. Sebille typically struggled to see much of anything besides roaring flames and wisps of smoke when she gazed into the fire. Tamlen had always teased her for her absence of ability. Things were different now and Sebille was well aware of the cause.

She saw the omens of death dance and throw their heads back in maniacal laughter within the flames. She saw the omens of suffering wail like wounded children, unashamed and unable to fathom their pain. She saw other things, things she weren’t certain would qualify as omens. They were purely visions depicting fates she was certain would resemble her own.

Suddenly, the fire’s warmth dissipated and she was left cold and empty. But she was far from empty. Two great forces inhabited her at present. One would take decades to wholly consume her. The other would eat her up in a matter of months, force her to swell with the cancer that it was. 

Bile rose in her throat and only the deepest of breaths could force it back down. She inhaled so deeply that he chest stung.

Her conversation with Syn would not leave her mind, no matter how hard she tried to force the words from her head.

_ “I’m going to die, aren’t I?” Sebille asked. _

_ Syn scoffed, her dark eyes rolling so harshly it was a wonder they didn’t fall back into her head. “Please. This isn’t the Blessed Age where so much as looking at a man saddles you with death,” the mage assured, “Trust me, Sebille, you will be provided with the best care Wynne and I can manage.” _

_ Sebille’s eyes went wide and panic rooted itself in her belly. “No! Do not tell Wynne! No one can know!” she begged, delirious with desperation. _

_ Syn discarded the leaf she’d been playing with, crumbling it up in her hand before releasing it to the wind. Her hands, usually marred by whatever magic she’d been immersed in, were now empty and plain. They were not the terrifying things they usually were. They rested on her shoulders and Sebille could feel the warmth and care in them. “This is not something you’ll be able to hide for forever. You’ll show soon enough. You have no choice in the matter.” she said softly.  _

Syn was right. Sebille had no choice. No choice in hardly anything. In being a Grey Warden, in saving Ferelden, in...this. 

_ You have no choice in the matter  _ echoed like a drum in a giant hall. It pounded against her skull like it was angry, sat heavily atop her heart, gnawed at her belly. She could not move the sound of it from thought. 

It did not dawn on her that she was crying until a soft sob escaped her. Thankfully, she sat at her own fire on the fringes of camp, isolated from the bulk of their followers. The sound of their laughter and hearty chatter was the greatest mockery of all. She wanted to enjoy herself. She wanted to belong to herself. She wanted...what this parasite took from her. 

The tears were hot and salty as they spilled into her mouth. The soft cries were expelled with ease but did little to lighten the burden that hung heavy in her heart. Nothing would. 

_ “What can I do?” she asked, voice trembling in fear. _

_ “You have options,” Syn offered, “But none you would like. None anyone likes.” _

_ Sebille gripped the tree nearest to her, ignoring the pain in her fingers as her fingernails bent and cracked. The pain was  _ real, _ unlike this horrible nightmare she was living in. She closed her eyes, hoping to somehow scrub her mind of the way Syn’s plump lips shaped the words. “What are they?” she wheezed. _

_ “All your options are bloody and painful. The mess alone isn’t worth it. Of course, the chances of you dying are significant,” Syn said. Sebille knew kindness was not a natural of easy thing for her to convey. But the mage was trying, such was evident in her quiet and subdued tone. “Infanticide is messy, risky business.” _

_ Her eyes split and she half expected the world that greeted them to be blinding. But it was not. The thick blanket of leaves comprising the canopy of the trees allowed for sporadic pools of light to spill through, leaving their world one dim at best. She could make out the tall trunks of trees older than she, their shape calling to mind freakishly long fingers pointing to the heavens. _

_ “Have you done them before?” Sebille wondered. _

_ Syn nodded solemnly. “I have,” she said curtly. She did not wish to elaborate, that much was clear. _

_ But Sebille had to know. _

_ “What happened?” she asked quietly. _

_ “After  _ it  _ happened...she bled for days. The fever drove her to delirium. The chills were so intense that I could set her on fire and she’d still be trembling away. Like a leaf in the wind,” Syn said, her voice wispy and laden with sour but important memories, “Her pain was so intense that not even my magic could dull it. Truly the first time I’d ever felt completely useless and out of my element.” _

_ “And?” _

_ “She died.” _

What had Duncan said? She’d been caught between a rock and a hard place? Eternally, it would seem. She was forever trapped between two horrible situations of varying dismay. 

Ah, Duncan. She had not thought much about him since Ostegar. Dwelling on what could’ve been was positively useless. She had not loved him, that much had been certain. But she did care for him. Deep down, somewhere beneath the creature festering in her womb, she grieved for the chance to allow potential to blossom fruitfully. Another thing she had no choice in.

Whether he was here or not, or if she loved him or not, this nightmare was a product of him. It was all too easy to sit here and blame him entirely for everything. He should’ve run her off, he shouldn’t have given in, he shouldn’t have finished inside. But Sebille knew she was as uniformly culpable for this mess as he was. The only difference was that she was saddled with the outcome and he was not. He never would be. 

No one ever would be, not to the severity that she was. She was alone in this. Forever tormented by a foolish mistake. 

Creators, she never liked children. They were too stupid, too whiny, too soft and prone to danger to be of any good to anyone. Her mother had constantly reminded her that children (and men) were harbingers of an early grave. Throughout her years, Sebille realized how there was truth in that in more ways than one. Keeper Marethari and a few other healers of the clan regularly lost mothers to the birthing bed. Not for any lack of skill or trying, but as it had been explained to her once, the matter of bringing babies into this world was a delicate and tricky one that refused to be pinned down. And of course, the worry they struck in the hearts of their parents.

She was not ready. To die, to be so brutally tied down to someone, and made responsible not only for them but  _ to  _ them. The world was so fresh, so new, even though she’d inhabited it for twenty-two years. In all her twenty-two years, she’d never spent a second of it away from her clan. She missed them and could not see herself staying away, but the freedom was intoxicating.

And now it was being torn away from her.

Besides, carrying a child in this mess? How would being a mother and a Grey Warden mesh? It wouldn’t, she decided.

She did not want this. At all. 

There was a gentle hand on her shoulder, the fingers digging into her skin softly.

“Are you alright, Warden?” 

She looked up, eyes swollen and buffy from crying. Her vision was blurry from the tears. But she could make out the golden head of hair, the loop twinkling in his ear. Of course, neither was she deaf. That voice, rich and heavily accented, the shortening of the vowels.

“Zevran,” she said, sniffling and wiping away her tears. She assumed she looked a right mess.

Her cheeks burned with humiliation at being caught in the midst of a sob fest. 

Zevran eyed her as he sat next to her, his legs folding gracefully beneath him. His smell, that of leather and clove and his oil he used on his blades, infested her senese and it calmed her.

Whatever it was that was budding between them...was difficult to pin down. They flirted like no other, despite how bad she was at it, and they quite enjoyed each other’s companies. They had this sort of unspoken rule during battle to viciously guard each other’s backs, they spent night shifts telling all sorts of wild tales of their lives and would insist no one take over until they were completely done with reminiscing and laughing, and...the small lingering touches. 

Everyone in camp made her feel real, but Zevran made her feel...seen and cared for in a way the others couldn’t muster. She did not want to tell him. She did not want to have another possibility ruined just yet. It was inevitable, but it was an inevitability she could stave off for the time being. At least until she began to show.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, leaning in. His shrewd eyes searched her face for any indication of the truth.

She feigned a smile. “Things are peachy. How are things for you?” she asked. She begged the Creators to afford her mercy.

But mercy was a foreign concept to the universal powers that be. “Ah, deflection. A sign that I’m onto something,” he mused, flashing her a small, charming smile, “Should I pursue?”

Sebille began to trace shapes in the dirt beneath her, trying to focus her attention elsewhere. She saw a child in everything she drew. After her silence had gone on for long enough, she felt Zevran’s finger slip beneath her chin so delicately it was like it had always been there. He tilted her chin up, forced their eyes to meet. His eyes were warm and kind. There was no trace of a cold-blooded killer in them because he wasn’t one, not truly. 

“Sebille…” he said tenderly. He flashed another smile, this one not meant to charm, but to gently defuse and knock politely at the door she’d slammed shut. 

Her bottom lip trembled with the effort to hold back. The words wanted so perilously to stream forth like some sort of force of nature.  _ I need him, just for a little while longer. _

She closed her eyes, causing another tear to spill. She imagined Ana, sweet Ana, her small hands grasping her own and her eyes filled with the same kindness as Zevran’s.

_ If he’s worth it,  _ nothing  _ will scare him off. _

That’s what Ana would say, she knew it. And Syn would say something about how that was false, that being a horrendous beast of old would scare him off.

“I’m pregnant,” she breathes. It was the first time she’d said the words aloud. Saying them made it real. 

Her composure was obliterated almost instantly. She collapsed in on herself, the sobs so severe that her whole body shook. 

She did not expect the strong arms that encircled her, heaved her into his lap, and held her as she wept. His hand stroked her black hair, occasionally a finger would twist up in it, and he rocked them.

“I don’t want it, I don’t want it,  _ I don’t want it, _ ” she shrieked over and over again.

He held her for as long as she cried, whispering to her soothing things and allowing her fingers to dig too deeply into his skin when the emotions became too much. By the end of it, her throat was raw, her face felt sticky, and her body ached. She had nothing left to give. It was very possible this was in her head, but she could have sworn she felt her stomach pulsating.

After her cries subsided, they sat in silence. Listening to the hoopla from the bulk of the camp. She did not move. She did not see. She barely breathed. She was absolved from thought.

When the ruckus from the others died down, Wynne and Sten being posted for guard that night, and everyone else retiring to their tents, Zevran spoke up.

“Do you know what I think?” he asked, still stroking her hair.

“What is that?” she groaned.

“I think you are strong,” he said, “I do not think this is the end of your life. Beginning of a new journey, no?”

She nuzzled into his chest, wanting to crawl into his skin and momentarily exist as him to see herself through his eyes. “You think so?” she asked innocently.

He chuckled. “I do,” he admitted, “One more beautiful and exquisite than you could ever dream of.”

He made her greatest nightmare sound so wondrous. Like it was a land of endless sweets and treats. “You forget I am alone,” she reminded him grimly.

“False!” Zevran exclaimed with great thrill, “You have me, my dear.”

Sebille blinked. Did he just...no. He couldn’t be. He wasn’t...but he  _ was. _

_ “And  _ you really think the grumpy mage and the over-excited one would leave to alone for longer than a second? The three of you live so deep in each other’s business I’m surprised you don’t respond to their names.” he teased and Sebille laughed.

He wiped a tear off her face with the pad of his thumb. 

“Life is grim, dear Warden,” he began, pressing his forehead to hers, “But it need not always be. Not with me, the most handsome man in the whole wide world, at your side.”

She giggled and wrapped her hand around his wrist. His pulse fluttered beneath her fingertips. Her worry and dread had not fully vanished. They still sat like bricks in her belly. But it felt as if a brick or two had been removed. And she could finally smile.

“Okay,” she said and she believed it. 


End file.
